


Force of Nature

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [44]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Attempted Murder, Corruption, Discrimination, Emotional Manipulation, Guide Powers, Guide Spike, Hurt Spike, Mates, On the Run, Original Character(s), Other, Sentinel Ed, Sentinel Greg, Sentinel Sam, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel/Guide, Spike Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike is an abnormal Guide, hiding in plain sight, in a society where they are just about property with nearly no rights. Life turns upside down on a call when he's ousted, and is forced to go on the run. Meanwhile, Greg, Ed and Sam find out a terrifying truth and desperately try to find their missing teammate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. Written on no sleep in the middle of the night. Meh. Enjoy~~~~
> 
> A/N: I don't own Flashpoint, nor the characters, nor the Sentinel/Guide universe. I don't make a profit. Please don't repost. Thanks!

            Guides, per the biblical propaganda smeared across billboards and commercials, were docile and sweet. They were like candy; they broke easily, splintering into thousands of melting little parts, and were savored in a fast-paced society that had lost its sense of taste. There were regulations set in place for these flimsy-spine, doe-eyed creatures—so maybe that’s why Spike never adhered to any of those commands.

            He’d earned his place, learned to throw a punch, and could set his chin to give a glare just as harsh as any Sentinel’s. He didn’t need to be assigned a Sentinel Guardian, he didn’t need to be part of a global registry whose entire purpose was to match Sentinels to potential guides, and he didn’t need to discriminate against so badly he would never advance past the police training academy.

            Guides were gooey, weak creatures that relied on the protection of others…and Spike was a force of nature with edges that could slice to the bone. He could have been one of the Guides from the Viking age—strong, sturdy, and willing to fight. Charging the enemy, the history books said, with or without Sentinel by their side.

            Spike peeled away another wire from the bomb he was working on, kneeling alone in the cold basement of an abandoned manufacturing facility. There wasn’t another Guide for miles around—he could feel the harsh, ragged Sentinel vibrations rupturing the air, and the flat, indistinct lines from those with normal genes.

It wasn’t surprising, as Guides seldom made it into the military or police. Instead, they were sold off like cattle to the highest bidder in the false name of “marriage”. Nearly all of the time, Guides were married before they could find their true match…as Spike’s grandfather always said, _it’s dangerous for them to go without an escort. Better they get placed in a solid marriage than wander the world for **love**_. He’d spat the word with disgust.

Those who wanted to serve their nation, who wanted to use their abilities to save, were told to stick with a caretaker’s job—watching the children, taking care of the home, catering to their partner. _They’re too weak!_ The politicians always shouted. _They get hurt more! They need protected!_

            That’s why Spike spent nearly an hour every morning covering up his scent, slipping from the Guide side of the scale to the neutral middle to which no attention was paid. It was hell. It was demeaning. It was his life.

            “Bomb diffused,” Spike told the team. His tone wasn’t low and soothing, like a Guide’s, but it wasn’t rough and assertive like a Sentinel, either. It was just Spike, just like the bomb tech had always wanted it to be. No labels, just a spunky, bad ass bomb technician for Toronto’s top Strategic Response Unit.

            “Good job, Spike,” Greg told him, but sounded a bit distracted, “Can you come to the command truck? Lou’s having trouble tracking the subject’s phone.”

            “And he won’t ask for help himself?” Spike snorted, grabbing the diffused bomb and hauling it back to the disposal truck. “Lou, I taught you better!”

            “Shut up,” The other man muttered under his breath, and the bomb tech could only imagine the wave of blood sweeping over his friend’s cheeks.

            Opting for the stairs, since the elevator was just a dilapidated shaft, Spike took them carefully—mindful of the bombs, albeit neutralized, in his arms. He passed tight corners, crevices in the walls, which his Guide instincts pointed out as safe spots—where the over insulated, thick concrete could deflect a majority of the Sentinels’ emotions. Peaceful places to curl up in, places to block out the world.

            The main floor was dusty and in shambles, and there weren’t any doors to open as Spike lugged himself and the dismantled explosive out of the building. The number of cruisers had gone down significantly since the SRU’s arrival. That left the oversized command truck shining nuclear silver without any obstacles.

Plodding towards Greg and Lou’s current location, having dropped off the bomb, Spike knocked on the command truck’s door and blinked against the blinding sun reflecting off the metal.

            Greg let him in, and Spike immediately joined his friend at the computers with a flourish—mainly collapsing into the empty chair and then flopping half-onto Lou. The chilled skin of his neck, once slick with perspiration and then cooled by the basement air, warmed up in the small, enclosed space.

            Giving no heed to personal space, Spike pressed against Lou’s side and typed on the keyboard, easily navigating through the system and grabbing onto the subject’s signal. The phone registration popped up, along with a newly filed police report, when the tracker showed where the phone was.

            _Rouge Guide_ , was all Spike need to read.

            It was one of his kin, a Guide running away from the perverted system and yearning for the freedoms that had been snatched away. It was a copy of him, this time a young woman, who had been found and outed—now she was running, just like Spike’s greatest fear, from the bloodhounds that had only the job to catch her, bring her in, and force her into the bound life of a Guide.

            Spike hated cases like this.

            He felt like a traitor ~~but she had killed, even if it was to protect herself from being identified, and set a bomb to steer police off her trail. She was a killer, but still his kin.~~

            He was one of the bloodhounds that were hunting her down.

            Shaking off Lou and Greg’s concern, and returning to his bubbly self, Spike pushed Lou away from the computer and took his place at the helm.

            This case was too close to home.

 

* * *

 

            Running after the subject through the Canadian woods, dodging trees and pitfalls, Spike kept his gaze swiveling for threats and not focused on the lithe form he was chasing. The rest of the team was converging, heading for them, but as of now Spike had no back up. He knew better, though, than to underestimate the youthful woman sprinting just out of reach. She had enough power to shove a knife through a full-grown man’s chest and enough sense of self-preservation to booby-trap the murder scene.

            So it wasn’t like Spike was chasing some lost little girl who cried at shadows.

            Seeing the suspect pause, slowing down just a fraction, Spike spotted the shallow river and took his chance. He pushed a little faster, swung his arms a little harder, and leapt. He drove his ethics to the deep pit of his stomach, and dragged the woman into the stream.

            She thrashed, any remnants of a clocking perfume washing downriver, and her fingers scrabbled and clawed against Spike’s skin—her teeth bare, nose flared. There was an unhealthy glow to her eyes, crazed and starved, that made Spike want to pull her close and promise life got better.

            But it didn’t. And it certainly wouldn’t for people like them.

            The subject sucked in a breath, cracked look turning calculating, and gripped his arms.

            “You’re one too,” She said numbly, not choosing an emotion to convey along with her words. Then she became frantic. “Your blockers are fading. They’ll find out, they’ll take us both in. I don’t want to live like that!” She snarled, “I’d rather die! Do you want to become one of those damn little submissive Guides that are paraded around like circus ponies?!”

            “Mine are coming off?” Spike whispered, not realizing how long it had been since he’d applied them. The woman nodded, perking up when she caught the first approaching Sentinel’s aurora. Spike swallowed hard.

            “We can run,” She hissed, “Don’t alert them. You’re a cop, you know how to get away. We can escape. _Please_ , I can’t let them take me.” Her hair stuck to her face from the water, and her clothes were soaked, but nothing was as wet as her eyes. Full of fear. Spike had no doubt that if she had a knife, he’d be drowning with a hole in his heart or stomach.

            “We have to go now,” The subject stressed, gripping tight at the SRU officer’s vest. “If we don’t go now they’ll take us away. Do you want to be somebody’s _pet_?”

            Spike shook his head dumbly, life speeding up like a brick was on the accelerator and he was heading for the ocean. The woman pulled herself out of his grasp, and tugged him out of the river, throwing his headset into the water and frisking him swiftly. Anything that could be used for tracking was heartlessly flung into the water.

            “We have to go,” The woman tugged at Spike’s arm, and the truth hit him with more pain than the sting caused by her sharp nails. He had no choice now. The rushing current had carried away his cover and the identity he’d built up. Spike was just an unclaimed Guide posing as a neutral and a criminal for lying all this time. There was no upside to this. Spike knew he couldn’t come back from this.

            They took off like startled deer, and Spike felt just a twinge of comfort at the woman’s arm brushing against his as they ran. He could feel the comforting sense of another Guide being by him, even if all she was putting out was the heady emotions of terror and desperation. She didn’t meet his gaze, opting to stare straight ahead while looking for any sign of danger.

            She pointed at a half-worn trail, whispering “I've been hiking these trail for a while. I know this place.”

            Spike realized, quickly following the woman’s lead, that the subject hadn’t paused at the river in confusion—she’d been trying to figure out what she was sensing, why her signals were mixed when it came to him.

            The path was much tighter here, barely fitting one person’s width, but the woman navigated it with ease. She didn’t check to make sure Spike was there, trusting him to keep up.

            Suddenly, the woman skidded to a stop and Spike’s knees nearly locked as he tried to not bowl her over. She crumpled to her knees before a medium sized tree, dug at the roots, and shoved her arms into the space she’d made.

            “Here,” She said and pulled her arms out from between the roots. She had three bottles balanced in her hands, and laid them on the ground. “Take off your gear, and put this on. Quickly.”

            Then, without warning, the subject peeled off her clothes and tossed them in a pile. Goosebumps sprawled across her skin, expose nipples turning to nubs, and she took one of the bottles and sprayed it over then entire expanse of her body.

            Spike followed her lead, far too exposed with his genitals hanging out, and grabbed one of the bottles off the ground. He caught a glimpse of the label. It was the stuff hunters used to mask their scent from animals. The subject broke the lid off the canister, and poured it liberally over her clothing until they were drenched. She motioned for Spike to do the same, and he did.

            Pulling on the soaking wet clothing, still waterlogged from the river, made Spike cringe but he did it swiftly and efficiently.

            “My name’s Sophia,” The woman huffed out as she pulled on her panties and clasped her bra. “Yours?”

            “Spike.” She nodded, not questioning the odd forename.

            “This will cover our scent for a few hours, at least.” She scooped up the third, unused bottle. “The dogs won’t be able to track us.”

            “Where are we going to now?”

            “North. There’s a small fishing community up there… anti-government, anti-Guide law. I left to go to college in the city… Look how that turned out.” She turned bitter, jerking her head towards the rest of the path.

            “The feds haven’t cracked down on them yet?” Spike asked, taking off running after her.

            Sophia twisted around just enough, still running, to give him a grin. Confident, promising safety. Spike’s inner Guide rolled with happiness.

            “It’s an unofficial militia, Spike,” She said happily, “200 ex-military guides dishonorably discharged for lying about their status. 200 _military trained_ Guides.” She turned her torso back to face the trail, not tiring even as her legs blurred at her fast pace, “you’ll fit right in.”

            “You were military?” the bomb tech asked, taking in the strong set of her shoulders and her disproportionally narrow hips. She had a good frame, filled in with discreet muscles.

            Her head shook to the side.

            “My father was, so I was raised on the compound.”

            “Both my parents are neutral,” he whispered, and felt the pity from Sophia. “I shouldn’t have been born a Guide, that’s what all the doctors said.”

            “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She shrugged, and Spike kept his gaze focused on her bobbing ponytail as she navigated. “Can’t really change anything. Just have to live and accept it.”

            “How are we going to get up there? To your town?”

            “You think I don’t know how to hotwire a car?”

 

* * *

 

            “He’s _missing_?” Greg barked, standing in the command truck, “and what… the trail just ends?”

            “We followed the footprints, but it stopped cold. There were empty bottles of scent blocker, and the dogs couldn’t follow the trail after that. We’ve got units out…” Ed explained, staring at the confused blonde sniper beside him, over the radio. “But Greg, there’s more than one Guide we’re working with.”

            “The subject had an accomplice?” The Sergeant asked startled, ready to dive into the woman’s information and find connections and possible leads—

            “I don’t think so,” Sam spoke up.

            Greg slowly lowered himself into a chair.

            “That’s not it, is it?” He sighed, “What else?”

            “Sam and I…” Ed fumbled for the words, and Greg closed his eyes. Ed never fumbled for his words. “Our mate marks showed up. They’re identical.”

            “It wasn’t the subject?” Greg rose out of the chair, knowing he couldn’t hide from this, and walked out of the command truck. It wasn’t that long of a trek to the river where the team was at, so he started onto the trail.

            “No. We caught her scent before, and nothing happened. You know what this means, right?”

            “Yeah, Eddie,” Greg’s shoulders drooped, “I know what it means.”

            “He’s not going to come back willingly. He’s smarter than that.” The Team Leader crossed his arms, watching as Sam held Spike’s abandoned helmet. “It’s not safe for him out there, either.”

            Both snipers fell silent, but looked back up attentively as Greg entered the small clearing cut by the tiny river. Then the negotiator stopped cold, looking at his cloth-covered arm while struggling to pull up his sleeve. Sam and Ed walked over, disbelief written clearly across their expressions, when Greg got his skin exposed.

            “We need to find him,” Ed finally spoke up, looking Greg straight in the eyes as Sam looked at the Sergeant’s marking. Then at his own, hidden by his pants leg.

            “Spike’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for,” Sam shook his head at both men, quickly catching their attention and ire, “It’s not up to us if he comes back. The only way we’ll see him again is if he decides he wants to see us again. He’s not one of those Guides that runs away at fifteen and has never been on the streets. Spike’s been taking care of himself for years,” A far-away look entered the blonde’s gaze, “he knows the procedures for hunting down rouge Guides. He knows the underground societies that hide them. He knows how to disappear, Greg.” Sam looked at Ed, “It won’t matter if the forming bond and the separation make him sick, he won’t know it’s us. It’ll just give him another reason to fall off the map.”

            Ed looked like he was ready to pull out his hair, if he had any. “We need to get the Guild to put out a warrant… Get local police his photo and have—”

            “Why would he want to be with us if we hunt him down like a criminal?” Sam spat, but Ed surged forward and got in his face before Greg could react.

            “Do you know what happens to unbound Guides on the streets? It doesn’t matter if Spike’s smart and fit—you think he could fend off 10 Sentinels if they went after him? He doesn’t have his scent blockers with him, since he’s obviously been using them, so he’s doesn’t even have that protection! Do you want to find him in some back alley victimized and dead or dying?” Ed’s hands clenched, “What God decided you deserve a Guide if you won’t do everything possible to protect them?”

            Sam’s face turned bright red, and he shoved Ed square in the chest as Greg sprung between them and tried to push them apart.

            “Just because he’s a Guide doesn’t suddenly make him weak!” the blonde snarled, “He can protect himself!”

            “He shouldn’t have to protect himself,” Greg bit out, glaring down both of his Sentinel-mates. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a Guide, he’s still our teammate. And we protect our teammate’s backs, understand?”

            Both of the other Sentinels nodded.

            “But Ed’s right—there’s no law protection for Spike. He’s fair game, and if another Sentinel gets him before the Guild can find him… then you know what the regulations are. We can’t protect him, even if we’re his true Sentinels. We can deal with this,” Greg lifted his marked arm slightly for emphasis, “later, but right now we just need to focus on making sure Spike stays safe and protected.” Greg turned his attention to Sam, “Even if he can watch his own back.”

           

* * *

 

            Sitting shot gun with an old-fashion map in his lap, Spike played with the hem of his new clothes. Sophia had gotten them from God-knows-where and threw them at him, ordering him to be quick. Again, there was no sense of modesty as she stripped before him, expecting the same, and changed into the new outfit. Both sets of clothes were from neutral people, and further cloaked their scents.

            Sophia swore out of the blue, staring at Spike’s bare form as the bomb tech twisted away from her gaze. She shook her head, pointing at his shoulder. Spike tried to see what she was looking at, but whatever it was had to be close to his collar bone because the black lines were too blurry to comprehend.

            “You know what that is, right?” Sophia asked, shoving him into the passenger side of the car.

            “It’s a bond mark, right? But I haven’t… No one’s caught my scent. No one except you.”

            “They don’t have to catch your scent while you’re nearby,” She growled, “I bet they smelled you in the forest, by the riverbed.” Sophia turned on the engine, pulling out of the isolated cabin lot and down the dirt road while slapping a map onto Spike’s thighs.

            “I just hope it’s none of your teammates. That’ll complicate things. How many Sentinels did you have?”

            “On my team?” Spike asked for clarification, and the other Guide nodded. “Five. One’s married but not mated.”

            Sophia looked agitated, eyebrows furrowed, and clucked at Spike for directions before she returned to that strain of conversation. The bomb tech told her the roads, eyes winding up the map towards the unmarked down Sophia had pointed out.

            “I hope it’s none of them. They’ll have better resources to track you down. The Guild will make you a priority—a Guide for combat Sentinels? Mated pairs are always stronger and better than regular Sentinels.”

            “Wait, Sentinels? Not just one?” Spike panicked.

            “No, you’ve got three tallies on your mark. Three mates. I’m pretty sure you’ve gone and set a record, bomb boy. Don’t worry, the militia will keep you safe from them.” She hiked up her shirt, showing her own mark with a single line slashed through. “They kept me safe from mine.”

            “Was he the one you killed? At the factory?” Spike swallowed the judgement that was welling up within him.

            “No,” She looked sad. “That was his brother—he was trying to take me to him. Bastard Sentinel got a photo of me, gave it to his friends and family, and they’ve been tracking me down. I was hiding from him in that factory, but he found me. Threatened me with a knife. Tables got turned, as you saw.”

            “And the explosive?”

            Her eyes got wide, and she nearly slammed on the brakes.

            “What?”

            “There was a bomb set up in the basement. That wasn’t you?”

            Sophia shook her head slowly, eyes still wide and full of horror.

            “No one got hurt, right? I swear, I didn’t set that up. I was only in the factory for an hour or so, but I didn’t go to the basement—I stayed on the first floor.”

            Spike let the information process, but Sophia was already turning away from the discovery as she tried to catch a glimpse of the map.

            “Interstate or backroads?” She mused, “Interstate’s faster, but backroads don’t have cameras.”

            “You’re the one who knows the route better,” Spike told her, “I’m just here to help with the map and drive when you get tired.”

            “Oh good,” Sophia looked relieved; “I was hoping to do shifts. Not stop driving, you know? Sleep in the car and all that.”

            “How many hours is it?”

            “To the militia, to Redbrook?” She asked, “8 hours on the interstate. 3 days on backroads.”

            “…Will they be able to… track me with the… bond?” Spike tried to find the words. Sophia looked at him with a sad smile.

            “Not at this stage, no. You’ve got a fledgling bond, like me. It’s not a full bond until you’ve got extended contact and sex and stuff,” She said bluntly, “It’s going to suck, though, I’m not going to lie. I was sick for days after I met my match. I got as far as I could, hunkered down, and suffered through it. Was throwing up, couldn’t keep anything down. I felt like my brain was going to explode, and the Guide part of me just wanted to go find my match—cause I knew it would make the pain stop. I almost did, too. But I had a neutral best friend—he was helping to cover for me and hide the Guide stuff—and he tied me to the bed. Gagged me, too, when I started whimpering and stuff. He wouldn’t let me ruin my life. I owe him everything for that.”

            “So… I’ll want to go find them?” Spike tried to understand, feeling so out of place.

            “Don’t worry,” Sophia gave him a firm stare, “I won’t let you.”

 

* * *

 

            “The Guild representative’s here,” Winnie leaned against the doorway to the debrief room, “Can I send her in?”

            “Go ahead,” Greg nodded, papers splayed out around him as the rest of the team flipped through the case file. Any hints to where Sophia Radcliff was, where Spike could also possibly be.

            Winnie disappeared, and a slender Sentinel woman took her place as she strolled in with her head held high.

            “Greg Parker, I presume?” She held out her arm, giving him a firm hand shake, and gratefully took the chair he offered. It would have been Spike’s, had he been there.

            “Yes, Ma’am. And this is Ed Lane, and Sam Braddock. Spike Scarlatti’s other Sentinels.” Greg had to force the words out, and they tasted so bitter and acidic they probably ate away at his teeth’s enamel.

            “Of course. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances. I understand your Guide has gone rouge?”

            The negotiator knew it was probably the truth, but he tried to salvage as much of Spike’s social standing as he could.

            “We don’t know for sure. He was chasing a rouge Guide, Miss Sophia Radcliff, who’s a known member of the Redbrook Anti-Sentinel Militia. We have no way of knowing if he left willingly, or under threat.”

            The pitying look the woman gave him was enough to set his spine just a bit straighter. “Of course,” She nodded.

            “Has the Guild made any progress?” Ed spoke up, leaning forward.

            “We have issued Miss Radcliff and Mr. Scarlatti’s images out to every law enforcement agency within the nation. We have alerted our sister-program in the United States. We have not heard back yet with any leads. Can I ask how long your Guide has been hiding his status? There are laws against it, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

            “You aren’t prosecuting him,” Greg told her with no negotiation room, “Your only job is to return him back to us safely. There will be no charges, or time spent in a treatment facility. You know the Sentinel’s ownership over Guides supersedes the law for condition center mandatories and court cases of falsifying status.”

            The Guild representative nodded, a bit shocked, and rose from her chair.

            “The Guild will continue to work with law enforcement agencies to track down your Guide. Please contact us if you find any clues in your files, and we will work tirelessly on our side as well. Feel free to call for any information. Good day, Sirs.”

            Then she took her leave and disappeared into the elevator.

            Greg let his head fall into his hands, and Ed gripped the negotiator’s upper arm in a gesture of comfort.

            “We’ll find him.” The older sniper said softly.

            The Sergeant looked at his team leader with sad eyes.

            “That’s not what I’m worried about, Eddie.”

            “You can feel it too, can’t you?” Sam spoke up, “Not… not pain exactly, but just…” The younger sniper couldn’t find the words.

            “He’s hurt,” Ed nodded, “Yeah, I can tell too. It’s getting worse. I can’t reach out to him, though. Aren’t we supposed to be able to do that?” The bald sniper sounded more agitated than he had before. “Is he blocking us or something?”

            Greg leaned against his chair, knowing the answer when no one spoke up.

            “Do you blame him?”

 

* * *

 

            “Want me to drive?” Spike spoke up, vision dancing from the lack of streetlights and taillights from the heavy traffic he was used to. Sophia looked over, bags under her eyes, and nodded as she slowed the car to a stop and crawled into the back seat. Spike lifted himself out of his seat, placing the map where he could cast quick looks at it. Then he lowered himself into the driver’s seat and took the car out of park.

            It had been like this for over 29 hours.

            The bomb tech could feel the headache forming behind his eyes. His throat was dry and crumbling like bits of sand rolling down a dune. His skin was pale, nearly white. He felt out of place, like something was suddenly missing—a puzzle piece missing and suddenly the picture didn’t make sense anymore. He tried to push that feeling away, bury it somewhere, but it was a nagging sensation that kept creeping up and trying to worm its way in.

            “The bond’s progressing faster than it should,” Sophia sounded terrified, “You spend a lot of time around them, right?”

            “Yeah,” Spike nodded, keeping his eyes on the meandering road, “but I always had blockers on, I was careful.”

            “I believe you,” Sophia sounded sincere, “I just think your biology decided to go ahead and accept them—some part of you, probably your Guide, knew before you could. It’s accepting your bond so easily, even with the distance and lack of imprinting, I think you’ll nearly have a full bond.”

            “And they’ll be able to find us?” Spike swallowed hard, the nausea now caused by more than one source.

            “God, Spike…” Sophia rubbed a hand over her face, “I don’t know. I mean, you’re still sick, so you’re rejecting the bond… just fight it, okay? Don’t let them into your head.”

            “The militia,” Sophia continued after a long pause, “They’ve got this method of breaking bonds. It’s messy, painful as hell, but I know of three Guides that got free of their Sentinels by doing it. Maybe they can help you, too. Get them out of your head, set you free. Like you should be.”

            Another six hours lapsed by, with Sophia curled up in the back sleeping quietly, and Spike pulled over at the simple tap on his shoulder and pulled himself into the back as Sophia threw the blanket over him and clambered into the driver’s seat. He could feel the fever getting hotter, and Sophia nodded understandingly when she reached back and placed her hand against his forehead.

            “I got that part too,” She told him.

            Shuffling further into the seats and the thread bare blanket, Spike curled up and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long to fall asleep, and Spike drifted off to the soft snuffling of Sophia’s timed breathing.

            “Spike? Spike!” The bomb tech blinked, opening to a misty-grey room full of curved angles and weak details. It certainly wasn’t the old-model car he had been in when he’d drifted off. This felt safer. He felt okay here.

            A pair of arms pulled him close, hugging him securely, but if felt different. Maybe his nerves weren’t firing off signals correctly, because he was desensitize and hardly registered the touch.

            “Hm?” The bomb tech grumbled into the chest of whoever was holding him, not bothering to look up. His headache was finally going away. He didn’t feel like he was going to throw up. Could he just stay here forever?

            “Spike, you’ve got to tell us where you are so we can help you. Alright, buddy? If you tell us where you are we can come help you.”

            “Sam?” Spike squinted up, everything blurry, and realized he was dream-sharing. It wasn’t real, in the tangible sense, but they could hear him. See him. Touch him. But that was only supposed to happen between mates…And this life was too cruel to allow him to be mates with the men he already loved…

            “Yeah, Spike, it’s me. Now, this is really important—where are you at?”

            Spike shook his head adamantly, “I don’t want to turn myself in. I know what will happen.” They couldn’t protect him from everything, especially not the corrupt law.

            Sam looked desperate.

            “Spike, buddy, we’re your mates. We’ve got your marks on us, and you’ve got ours I bet. If you tell us where you are, I promise nothing will change. You know that. You know we’ll always respect you, and let you be yourself.”

            “Ed and Greg have the marks, too?” Spike asked hesitantly, but Sam nodded enthusiastically. They were hovering in the background, scared to get too close and spook their Guide.

            “We aren’t going to let the Guild send you off to one of those camps, or take you to court. You’re going to be the official Guide of our team—still be our bomb tech, too—and nothing’s going to change. We love you, Spike, we did before we found out about all of this. But you need to tell us where you are.”

            Spike didn’t know what to do, frozen in confusion—he wanted to tell them, because these were his teammates, and he knew them… loved them, trusted them with his life, but…—, but he was yanked from his dream with a violent twinge of pain radiating from his thigh.

            It was Sophia, face set in stone, who simply hissed, “Everything they are saying to you is a lie. All Sentinels lie. They’ll lock you away and throw away the key until they want you. You’re better off without them, Spike. You’ve done everything right—hiding, learning to be tough—don’t throw that away now.”

            “Go back to sleep, you need it, but don’t let them lie to you, Spike.”

 

* * *

 

            “ _Fuck_!” Sam swore, bolting up in bed, while Greg and Ed sat up with matching stormy expressions.

            “He’s traveling by car,” Ed spoke up and then explained when his two Sentinel mates look at him, “There was a car engine rumbling in the background. Didn’t sound good either, so it’s either a later model or a bad car. There wasn’t a lot of other noise, either, so they’re not on a major road. He and Radcliff must be taking shifts or something, if he was sleeping in the car. I bet they’re not stopping for hotels.”

            Greg rolled over, grabbing his phone, and dialed the Guild’s number with shaking fingers.

            “Where are you at, Spike?” The negotiator mumbled, waiting for the Guild to answer the phone.

 

* * *

 

            Three days later, just as Sophia had predicted, they and their dying car arrived at the gates to Redbrook. The guards, dressed up as ordinary civilians simply hanging out at the front gates, immediately smiled at Sophia as she explained her and Spike’s presence.

            Then they were cut off, and the familiar sound of S.W.A.T. issue boots stomping ground made Spike wheel around where he was standing next to Sophia. One of the guards, eyes darkening, jerked out a pistol from under his shirt and aimed and—he fell to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.

            Sophia grabbed his gun, clutching Spike’s arm and pulling out a needle from her pocket. She quickly pushed it through his skin, ignoring his shout of outrage—a hail of gunfire came from the compound. An armored car roared up to the gates, more men pouring out, and all Spike saw was a rag as four men wrestled him out of Sophia’s grasp and to the ground. The female Guide went down with a shriek, a bullet hole in her shoulder and pistol on the ground.

            Two more armored cars screamed through the gates of the compound, but Spike felt—just before the drugged rag pulled him under—arms pick him up and place him onto firm seats.

            “Target in custody.” Were the comforting last words he heard before a drugged exhaustion made him black out.

            It had been an ambush, and the militia fought to the death.

            Sophia watched the car roll off with the other Guide tucked within its doors, and crawled onto her feet as she grabbed onto the nearest weapon.

            Sentinels were monsters, she reminded herself. Better to die than end up in their hands.

            She just wished Spike a swift and painless death.

 

* * *

 

            “He’s safe?” Greg let out a breath of relief, “Yes, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Thank you.”

            “He’s at the hospital, come on.”

 

* * *

 

            Spike sweated and curled up into a ball, everything too bright, as his stomach twisted into knots. His mouth was dry, his entire body was shivering, and the nurse clucking over him was talking frantically with the doctor in confusion.

            Pulling his knees even closer, Spike buried in his face in the flimsy gown as he tried to keep his breathing steady—trying to not throw up, knowing it would just be bile. He knew his heart rate was speeding up dangerously fast, and his temperature was soaring past the dangerous range.

            “Here’s his tox screen,” Another nurse ran in, handing over the folder with a bleak look on her face. The doctor swore, barking out orders, but Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slowly started to tremor.

           

* * *

 

            Sitting next to Spike’s hospital bed, Ed carded his hands through the short brown hair as he listened, with his two other Sentinel mates, to the doctor explain how Spike had been poisoned by a known suicide concoction used by the Redbrook militia. The site of injection, the man went on, was placed where it was most likely another person had suddenly jabbed Spike with the needle.

            Someone had tried to kill their Guide to keep him away from them.

            The three Sentinels shared a look.

           

* * *

 

            Three months later, and Spike yawned as he walked through the doorway. He’d been in Guide Right meetings all morning, pointing out the glaring flaws that politicians were still seemingly blind to, and then was on call for the rest of the night. It was just turning to 10 P.M., and he was exhausted.

            Sam slumped against his Guide’s back, pecking him lightly on the chin, and ushered him out of the way so Greg and Ed could spill in from where they were standing outside the apartment.

            It wasn’t a long walk to the bed, but it seemed like it. It must have taken 10 minutes just to traverse that tiny distance.

            Spike crawled into the middle, his favorite and chosen spot, and let the three Sentinels flop onto their desired parts of the bed as they all yawned and shuffled together. Greg’s fingers flicked over the long-faded injection site that had nearly taken Spike away from them, but Ed’s grasped his wrist and clasped their hands together over Spike’s stomach. Sam snuffled against the bomb tech’s hip, going limp quickly as he snored softly.

            They all fell asleep with smiles on their faces, drunk off the shared emotions of love and security unconsciously pouring from Spike’s exhausted frame.

           


End file.
